


Hollow Home

by Dream_Traveler_Kirvee



Series: Graces Family Headcanon [3]
Category: Tales of Graces
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 13:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Traveler_Kirvee/pseuds/Dream_Traveler_Kirvee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Home is where your heart is, but not anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hollow Home

**Author's Note:**

> This was something that came out of a conversation I had with one of my friends. It was about how, if you looked, a LOT of people on Ephinea are actually really xenophobic and racist. The worst place is the Enclave. Naturally, this has a lot of my theories and headcanons hinted in it, but it should be pretty easy to understand.
> 
> This is also based in my Graces Family Headcanon and takes place after Hubert and Pascal have all of their kids (the one in this oneshot is their youngest, Stewart).

_**~Hollow Home~** _

It was really useful, her ability to notice the little things other people didn't. It helped her a lot in various ways, like letting her know the general idea of how another person was feeling or things in the environment that her comrades may have missed. It was just one of her many talents that came in great use during all the trouble with Lambda and Fodra.

But there were times when it was more a curse than a blessing. She'd learned that when she was younger, when the teenagers and young adults in the Enclave refused to play with her or only went to her when they wanted her to do something for them. There were the jealous glances in their direction, the way people usually brushed off her opinions, even how her own sister would ignore her sometimes. She always pretended she never noticed the odd looks she received, or the looks of pity aimed at Fourier for having to raise someone like her on her own, or the whispering people did the moment she turned her back, but she did. She always noticed it.

However, there was no point in her life where she hated this "talent" as much as she did right now. She stood just outside the entrance teleporter to the Enclave, looking at it as if she couldn't decide what it was or how it worked. It had been a very long time since she had last been to the Enclave. Many years, and this was her first time back.

Stewart had asked if he could go see her home. He'd never been to it before—none of their children had, really—and he babbled incessantly to Hubert about wanting to see the architecture of his mom's side of the family. Hubert was usually the one who entertained his obsessive need to look at and examine architecture, taking him to Barona and Grayleside and all the cities in Strahta dozens of times. But never once had he been to the Enclave and he kept bringing it up so much and making so many puppy eyes that they finally conceded. Pascal elected to take him since she knew the area better.

In truth, though, that wasn't the whole reason she'd offered to be the one to bring him. It was a little more complicated than that, and it brought her back to the reasons she hated her talent for noticing the little things. Stewart tugged at her hand and looked up at her curiously. Evidently he'd gotten bored of gazing in awe at the fairly simple, though weather-worn, arch above the teleporter. Well, it was better to get this over with, and she couldn't bear the thought of disappointing her youngest when they'd made it this far.

The Enclave was, unsurprisingly, just like she remembered it being all those years ago. It was worn-down, dilapidated (yet still functioning, at least) and had a population of about twenty. Stewart was immediately awestruck at the actual entrance just past the inner-teleporter, spinning around as much as he could with his hand held and looking at the designs on the worn-out floor like he'd just discovered the world's greatest treasure. It made her smile to see him happy, easing some of the worry and dread that was resting uncomfortably in her chest.

"Now, Stew, ya gotta stay with me, kay?"

"Kay," was his simple reply while he went back to examining the entry archway, taking a moment to wonder at the statues of her people's symbol.

Gently tugging on his arm so he'd follow her, she led him past the entrance and deeper into the Enclave and therein spawned the reason she had never hated her ability to notice little things more than she did right now.

Immediately upon setting foot into the actual Enclave, they were noticed by two Amarcians that stood near the central greeting statue. Stewart didn't seem to notice them, as he was too busy examining the stonework on the bridge and the diamond designs on the floor. But she did. She especially noticed when one turned to the other and began whispering, darting glances every so often in their direction.

Of course, they immediately stopped when they grew nearer and more within ear shot. Stewart briefly looked up from following the design lines with his feet to look at them and beamed and greeted them. He didn't seem at all fazed when they smiled back, one even waving slightly at him. But she knew better. She recognized those smiles as being the tense, 'we're only tolerating you right now because we know you'll leave soon' smiles that some of her people were fond of using, particularly whenever there were non-Amarcians in the Enclave. Or, as it was in this case, half-Amarcian.

She wondered briefly if Fourier was here. They were only part way into the Enclave and she already felt that she needed a distraction. But she brushed off the thought as soon as it came. No, if Fourier was anywhere, it would be her lab, as always. And even if she was here, it would only make the whispers and the glances worse. It was one thing with just her and Stewart, but adding Fourier would add pity glances aimed at her sister and whispers about how unfortunate it was for her, being one of the last hopes of the Enclave. No, it was better if it was just them.

If it was just them, then the majority of whispers would be aimed at her and the glances would be at him. She almost envied her son's seemingly inability to notice the atmosphere around him. Then again, his brain was too full of architecture babble to even notice much of anything if he could. He got that trait from her and she was almost grateful for it.

She decided to show him the fountain, figuring it would be something he'd like. Thankfully he did, and she allowed him to walk around the fountain unaccompanied by her. He kneeled down by it to examine the stonework better, walked around the circumference of the base a few times and even politely asked the lady that usually stood near it if he could try the chocolate. Pascal watched carefully as she helped her son reach a reusable cup underneath a chocolate fall, not missing at all the highly disapproving glare that was sent her way when his back was turned.

There were some small blessings, at least.

"Oh my! Pascal, is this your son?" asked a middle-aged woman as she walked over to them.

"Well, he's one of 'em, yeah." She answered, lightly tugging on her son's arm to coax him from where he fled behind her.

"Oh gracious, he's so cute!" she cooed, petting the child's head and returning his greeting.

An elderly man wandered over as well, "How old ye be, boy?"

"I'm eight years old, sir."

"Hooh! Such politeness and eloquence for someone so young! You must make your mother proud." Stewart blushed at this praise, not used to having this much attention showered on him.

She liked these people, because she could always tell they were being genuine. But even their brief moments of generosity wasn't enough to completely erase the negative feelings brought on by the younger people in the Enclave. Fortunately, Stewart continued to remain oblivious to it all.

As they continued to walk around the Enclave—Stewart stopping sometimes to poke around the bases of the central statues—she began to understand Fermat more than she had previously. It had always confused her, back then, why Fermat left and never came back. Though her reasons were sound—it is kind of a headache to have to hike up and down a mountain to get to work every day—Fendel's working conditions weren't so harsh that there was never time to visit the Enclave. But she never came home. Not on weekends or holidays or…ever. Even when she got married and had her baby, she never once came to the Enclave, nor did she ever bring Sagan. Pascal hadn't even known about Sagan until she visited her friend one day out of the blue. She never understood why she refused to come back at the time, but she was beginning to now.

She loved her people and she loved her origins, but sadly there were wounds that were so many generations old that they were impossible to heal. Even now, while they walked toward the Overseer's Chamber, she could feel all the glares on her back. If she listened closely, she could almost swear she heard the constant whispering of betrayal and disappointment. It was quite ridiculous, really. It was as if she'd killed somebody! Then again…in a way, maybe she did. They were dying. All of them, living, dead and unborn. The amount of fertile females with the minute possibility of successfully conceiving and delivering could be counted on one hand, and she and Fermat had gone and subtracted it by two.

It didn't matter that they had had kids at all. It didn't matter that their kids were at least _**half**_ -Amarcian. No, it only would've mattered if they had been ' _pure_ '. Purity was all they cared about as a dying culture anymore and she and Fermat had tainted it. Nothing could ever really be done to change that. Not anymore. She was certain that, if Fermat had ever come back, she would've been treated the same way.

Stewart was especially ecstatic at seeing the Overseer's Chamber. Poisson had since taken over the position of Overseer and had grown into a strong and respected young adult. She knew the child, since she had occasionally visited the Oswell home. Upon seeing them both for the first time in a while, she patted the boy's head delightedly and let him wander around the room, periodically explaining one feature or another to him. Pascal smiled at the sight of her youngest hanging on every word of one of her oldest friends.

When he had his fill of the architecture in this room, they said their goodbyes; though Pascal caught the sympathetic smile Poisson gave her as the transporter moved away.

The stares and whispering returned once again, yet Stewart still didn't notice it. Pascal thought of swinging by her old house, but there was really nothing of interest for them there. House structures in the Enclave were all the same and the thought of staying longer than she had to didn't sit well with her. It was almost funny how she couldn't recall a single time in her life when she'd been this eager to leave the Enclave. Stewart took a few more moments to examine the side of a bridge before they were finally off to return home.

Leaving the Enclave, Pascal couldn't help but feel a little bit sad. For all the good and bad memories there, the Enclave had always been her home. And yet, with this recent trip, it hadn't felt at all like home. Sure, it had been a little awkward when she had first brought her friends there all those years ago and people had been a little wary of the outsiders, but it wasn't as bad as this. It was never as bad as this until more started showing up.

Truthfully, she hadn't known what to expect. When she had the twins, Fermat had warned her about going to the Enclave. Word travels fast on Ephinea, and even faster in the Enclave. What she found there was worse than anything she had expected from her own people. It was a good thing she hadn't let Hubert come alone with Stewart. Hubert was, in his own way, just as observant as she was and likely would've noticed the same things she did. And that, she reasoned, was something he didn't really need to see or know about.

On the shuttle ride home, Stewart babbled incessantly about all he had observed about the architecture in the Enclave and rattled off different facts and figures on the age and stability of the stone types and the craftsmanship of the designs and stonework. She smiled and nodded, not really understanding what he was saying, but he sounded happy. And as long as he was happy, she figured that was worth any feelings of rejection and disappointment. Yes, she decided, it was even worth the feeling that she had, in a way, been exiled from the one place she used to call home.


End file.
